


The Fall of Sir Arden

by RacecarWrites



Category: Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Loss, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:54:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28495683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RacecarWrites/pseuds/RacecarWrites
Summary: After a nameless enemy soldier lands a lucky blow on Arden, Ayra comforts her husband in his final moments...
Relationships: Ayra/Arden
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	The Fall of Sir Arden

It happened faster than Ayra could have expected. She heard a yelp of pain, turned towards her husband, and was greeted with the sight of an enemy lance piercing his chest through a gap in his armor. 

Everything was going well - the army had encountered another wave of enemy soldiers, this time a mounted troop armed with lances. Hardly a challenge at this point in the war, and it was clear this enemy troops' skill certainly paled to Eldigan's Cross Knights they had faced in the past. Arden had positioned himself up front, shield out to take the brunt of the attack while Ayra would maneuver out from behind him to deal a finishing blow. It was a tactic they had practiced and perfected and utilized both of their strengths. 

Two of the enemy knights had charged toward their position, and in those situations, Ayra would try to flank whichever soldier was closer upon clashing with Arden. She saw her opportunity and bolted ahead, striking the knight across an unarmored part of his abdomen, dealing a fatal blow. It was in that moment, over the sound of rushing hooves and her own heavy breathing, that she heard her beloved cry out in pain. 

The second soldier had managed to strike at a precise chink in Arden's armor. It was a hundred to one shot. A moment of supreme luck for a nameless, faceless lance knight. 

And a moment of supreme unluckiness for Sir Arden of Chalphy. 

Ayra could only focus on his face and read all the emotions that flashed upon it. Shock and pain were apparent, but there was something else in his eyes, a look she had seen when they first met and never since. His eyes reflected a deep, painful remorse. This moment was his greatest failure. 

The pain and sorrow on his face awakened the fierce temper that had been quelled since the beginning of their life together. Heat spread from her chest to her arms, and she gripped her sword with an unparalleled ferocity. She turned her attention to the knight, whose mount had stopped while he firmly held on to his lance. Ayra could swore she saw a smile beneath his helmet. She closed the gap between them in a moment and struck, a movement she had repeated time and time again. He choked and sputtered, then slumped off of his horse. Vengeance was served. 

Arden fell to his knees with a loud thunk, dropping his sword and fumbling with the lance embedded in his chest. Ayra rushed to his side, grabbing the shaft of the lance to help. His breathing grew more labored, each breath coming out as a sputtering gasp for air as he struggled against the blood in his lung, the sound of which felt like a dagger in her own heart. She steeled herself and pulled out the lance with a swift tug, staining her white gloves red with the blood of her love. 

Arden gasped and fell backwards, the shock of fresh pain overwhelming him. Ayra threw down the bloody lance and rushed to his side, catching his head before it hit the ground. Still cradling his head, she used her free hand to inspect the wound, tugging at his breastplate to get a better look at it. Blood was seeping out of it, soaking his undershirt and making his armor plates slick. It looked to be around the bottom of his right lung. Maybe he could pull through with the right healing magic, he just needed to hold on until Edain could--

Arden put his hand on hers, pulling her out of her thoughts. She turned to meet his eyes, the eyes that had brought her peace and joy throughout the war. Somehow his eyes were calm, full of a tranquil understanding. The melancholy that had fueled his life - from years of being left behind, being too slow for his comrades, too slow to learn and grow stronger, and had been successfully suppressed by Ayra's presence in his life - had prepared him for this moment. To him, this was inevitable. 

His grasp tightened on her hand, reassuring her. She returned his grasp, her eyes welling with tears. She dropped her gaze, searching for the right words, when his gloved hand shakily reached up for her cheek. She pressed her face into it, letting the tears flow as he gently wiped them with his thumb. 

Ayra choked back a sob. "You promised…" she held his hand tighter. "You promised you'd always protect me." 

Arden forced a smile. "I also promised I'd die trying." His face contorted into a cough, blood trickling down from the edges of his mouth. "I ain't… I ain't gonna be there for the kids…" 

"Don't, please…" Ayra leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his. He closed his eyes, and for a moment his breathing had calmed, as if her mere presence eased his pain. 

He spoke, his voice steady and dependable. "I love you, Ayra. Thank you for everything." 

His breathing slowed and gurgled, growing quieter and quieter. Ayra pulled away, hoping to see any sign of confidence in his expression. His eyes had dulled, losing the melancholy that she had noticed in his expression when they first met, and losing the life and joy he had brought into her life since then. 

Sir Arden, the lover of Princess Ayra and knight of Prince Sigurd, was dead. 

Ayra lost herself. She was only vaguely aware of her shaking hands as she screamed, wailing for her lost love. If only she had made him wear a different set of armor. If only she had chosen to flank the other lance knight. If only there was something, anything, that she had done differently so Arden would still be alive. Why would she be granted such a loving husband only for him to be cut down so soon? Who else could possibly give her as much joy as him? What did Scáthach and Larcei do to deserve growing up without their father to guide them? 

A hand on her shoulder helped break through her delirium. She turned to see Prince Sigurd, or at least what she could make out of him through tear-blurred vision. He said something about Arden's bravery, or apologized for her loss, or other consoling words; she couldn't quite tell and it didn't really matter. What mattered was his presence, shaking her back to her senses. She had comrades that depended on her, and she needed to push aside her pain to help them. 

Ayra slowly rose to her feet, feeling a rush of energy surge through her limbs. A flame once quelled by years of companionship and peace had been lit anew, sparked to life again by loss and sorrow. For the first time since she fell in love, Ayra was furious. No longer able to lead a peaceful life with her love, she dedicated herself to ending the war and quickly as possible - and, preferably, as painfully as possible for her enemies. 

Ayra moved forward, leaving her husband's corpse behind, dedicated to freeing Jugdral from Grannvale's oppression. The war will end by her hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure she's gonna be successful, right? 
> 
> Catharsis time! I wrote this during a nasty spell over the holidays and it really did help me focus and feel better. This is also inspired by another piece I made a couple months back: https://twitter.com/RacecarArt/status/1327112579118997505?s=19
> 
> I hope you all have a great new year! Thanks for stopping by, and have a wonderful day. <3


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